


Going Hunting

by GeneratorCat



Series: JayTim week 2016 [5]
Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Boy Scouts, Camping, M/M, implied child neglect/abuse, literal and figurative bruises
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-05
Updated: 2016-08-05
Packaged: 2018-07-28 23:34:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7661539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GeneratorCat/pseuds/GeneratorCat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Any luck?” Clark asks with a smile that Bruce wants to punch right off his perfect face.</p>
<p>“Of course, I found them. That’s why they’re standing right here next to me.” Bruce gestures to the empty space around him and Clark laughs. </p>
<p>“I can try, if you want a rest.”</p>
<p>“I don’t need to rest.” He doesn’t, he’s fine. It’ll take a lot more to wear out Bruce Wayne. And he is going to find those boys. They will not beat him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Going Hunting

**Author's Note:**

> For JayTim week, day five: bruised & battered  
> thank you, varevare and astrolas for your help! and to shulkie, who gave me a lot of advice about boy scout-type organisations and camping, of which I ended up using very little because I'm lazy about details.  
> (approximate ages are: Tim- 14, Jason-16, Dick-17)

Bruce sees Dick coming toward him and he just _knows_. By the time the boy reaches him Bruce has already gone through the five stages of grief and awaits the news.

Dick looks up at him with wry resignation, amusement, and just a touch of shame. Bruce reminds himself to have a chat with his son later, after they’ve solved whatever problem Dick is here to report. Being the oldest in the bunch, Dick makes himself responsible for the rest, but he needs to know that it’s not actually his job to look out for them. It’s not his fault when something goes wrong.

“Hey, big guy. So, I did a headcount, and...” Dick trails off, shrugging.

Bruce sighs. He looks out over troop 127 and, sure enough, two are missing. Conner and Bart are racing along the lakeside from one end of the clearing to the other, kicking up sand. Jaime is playing with the campfire, under Clark’s supervision. Garfield is up in a tree, walking up and down branches. Roy sneaks food out of the cooler and passes it off to Wally, who does a poor job of hiding the pack of hot dogs under his shirt. The Commando 5000, the most impenetrable padlock on the market today, is laying in the grass nearby, open and disappointing. While Bruce isn’t terribly surprised, he does rue the day he thought it was a good idea to teach the boys how to pick a lock.

Seven of the boys are accounted for. And that just leaves…

Bruce is, deep down, a little impressed that they managed to slip away. He and Clark and even Dick have been stepping up their vigilance, at least one of them keeping a sharp eye out for them at all times.

“Whose idea do you think it was this time?”

“Does it matter?” Dick asks with a grin.

No, it doesn’t, really. It doesn’t matter who started it, whose fault it is. They’ll both get the same talking to, because they’ll stick together for that part just as they stick together for the making Bruce’s life hell part. He does have to admire their loyalty.

“Go let Clark know, please. Tell him to stay here with everyone, and that Jaime was just a distraction and I’m disappointed he fell for it.”

Dick tries to hide his laughter by looking away, at Clark’s careful attention to the fire and the teenager poking at it.

With narrowed eyes Bruce turns toward the three trails that start from the clearing. He picks the one to the far right and picks up his backpack, already prepped, full of water and snacks and first aid supplies. “I’m going hunting.”

Dick runs off and Bruce marches into the woods.

And he’d almost thought they’d all have a nice time this weekend.

~

“Fuck me with a popsicle, it is too damn hot out here,” Jason groans, dragging his feet through the dirt. The walking trail he and Tim are exploring is fairly wide, but still they stay close together, arms brushing occasionally. On either side trees line the path, mostly pine that grow straight up and offer no shielding from the sun.

Tim unzips the side pocket of his pack and pulls out a treasure: a bright blue, slightly melted ice pop. With wide eyes Jason accepts the treat and rips off the top of the wrapper, shoves the end in his mouth and instantly perks up.

“This is why I love you.” Jason ducks down and plants a sticky kiss on Tim’s cheek. Tim wipes at it but only manages to smear it around and get his hand messy too.

“Don’t get too excited, I’m not fucking you with it.”

Jason doesn’t seem too disappointed, happily devouring the popsicle. “Where’d you even get this?”

“That new lock Bruce got for the cooler is a joke.”

“What a shame. He was so confident about it, too.”

Both of them grin, remembering the smug look on Bruce’s face when he’d brought out the cooler with its huge, shiney new lock. They laugh when they imagine the defeated look on Bruce’s face when he found the lock was no match for Tim.

“So what’s the plan, Timmy?” Jason waves at the scenery around them, flinging drops of blue on the ground. “Boar hunting? Cave diving? Crocodile wrestling?”

“No, and not only because we live in New Jersey and don’t have wild boar, caves, or crocodiles.” Tim reaches into his backpack again and this time retrieves a map of the park they’re staying in. It’s a big blob of green and a smaller blob of blue with half a dozen lines carved through it, marking the walking trails. The one they’re on now is a slim pink line on the map and will loop around to the other side of the lake from where the troop is camped. Tim points to a spot near where the trail ends, an inlet backed by a small hill. “We’re going here.”

With barely a glance at the map, Jason nods. Doesn’t ask why Tim picked that spot or try to find a better one. Just trusts and asks, “Do you think they noticed yet?”

“Probably. What did you bribe Jaime with?”

“Bart’s phone number.”

“Do you have Bart’s phone number?”

As they pass a trash bin Jason steps away to toss in the empty popsicle wrapper. “Remind me to get Bart’s phone number.”

They walk on quietly for a while, sweating under the sun but enjoying the smell of the trees, the wildflowers that grow along the trail edge. The occasional breeze that ruffles their hair. The comfort of having the other close by.

Eventually Jason breaks the silence with, “So how long do you think it’ll take the old man to find us?”

~

Forty minutes after he left the campsite Bruce comes back. The trail on the far right had been shaped like a lollipop: a straight line and then a branch to the either side that circles around back to the starting point. It was nice, an easy walk with lots of plant life to study. Or, it could have been, if Bruce wasn’t on a mission and had the opportunity to enjoy it.

He should have known, really. A short, easy trail like that, one that doesn’t lead too far away from the campsite; the boys wouldn’t have picked that one.

Clark spots him coming and, leaving the boys to their gear inspection, meets Bruce as he retrieves a fresh water bottle and a pack of beef jerky.

“Any luck?” Clark asks with a smile that Bruce wants to punch right off his perfect face.

“Of course, I found them. That’s why they’re standing right here next to me.” Bruce gestures to the empty space around him and Clark laughs.

“I can try, if you want a rest.”

“I don’t need to rest.” He doesn’t, he’s fine. It’ll take a lot more to wear out Bruce Wayne. And he is going to find those boys. They will not beat him.

Refreshed and fortified, Bruce turns to the mouth of the middle trail. This one runs along the edge of the entirety of the park. It’ll take hours. But it has the greatest potential for mischief, as it has access to anywhere in the park, so it’s likely the one two teenaged boys would choose to explore.

Bruce shoves another water bottle into his pack, along with a bag of dried fruit. And a candy bar.

With an amused smile, Clark salutes him. “Always prepared.”

“I was never a boy scout.”

“Could have fooled me.”

“Apparently that’s not very hard to do.”

Clark’s eyes narrow but he’s still smiling. The bastard.

Bruce sets off again.

~

When they finally reach their destination both boys are ready to collapse. The walk was long, but more than that, it was _hot_. They are sweaty and drained and stumble into the small clearing at the end of the trail, drop their packs and immediately move toward the lake in unspoken agreement. Shirts and shoes and socks and shorts are stripped off, left on the ground indiscriminately, and the first contact of cool water against their feet pulls a grateful sigh from Tim, or maybe Jason, or both. Too exhausted to swim, they lay down in the shallows and let the water roll up and down and over their bodies. The water lifts their slack hands and brushes their fingers together, and neither pulls away.

When they’ve recovered a little Tim asks, “What do you want to do?”

Jason shrugs, and the movement sloshes water to lap at his cheek. “Swim, fish. We can even get wild and review that first aid manual.”

Tim could point out that these are all of the things they would have done with their troop, had they stayed, but they both know that, so he doesn’t.

Jason could explain how it’s different, somehow, to be alone, just the two of them, but they both know that, too, so he doesn’t.

They look up at the sky, and out across the lake, at all of the possibility surrounding them, wide and waiting for them.

~

Bruce is pissed.

He’s tired and sore, and bleeding from a cut on his shin from an unfortunate encounter with a hidden tree root that he will never admit to tripping over. If Clark or one of the troop boys asks, he fought off something big and fierce. His feet protest each step, despite the high quality of his hiking boots, because all of the arch support in the world can only do so much after so many miles. He’s hungry and thirsty, but not extremely so, and leaves the rest of his provisions in his pack, but it’s uncomfortable. His t-shirt is soaked through with sweat. His love for the outdoors is quickly diminishing. And it’s all _their_ fault.

It took over four hours for Bruce to get back to the camp, fruitless once again. He hadn’t even stopped to check in with Clark, just topping off his water and then stomping away on the last trail. He saw evidence the boys had been this way after only a few minutes; scrapes in the dirt where one of them had dragged his feet, drops of artificial blue that Bruce assumed to be from one of the pilfered popsicles, and the wrapper in the trash can that confirmed that assumption. He is on their trail. He has them.

He also wasted most of the day searching the wrong paths, and it’s eating him up inside.

He’s near the end now. According to the map he should be coming up on the lake, opposite from where the troop is camped. The sun is low in the sky, and he’ll probably be dragging those boys back in the dark.

He’s going to separate them. After so much time to think it over, Bruce has come to that decision. Not lightly, of course. It isn’t something he wants to do. But it’s for the best, for everyone. They’re disruptive to the others, and this is far from the first time Bruce or Clark has had to leave care of the troop to the other to hunt down the pair that wandered away. It would be good for them as well. Tim and Jason are good boys, and Bruce is sure that if they made different friends, they would both reach their full potential. They limit each other, Bruce is certain. They will be happier, in the long run, to be apart.

The trees are thinning, and the dirt gradually turns to sand. He can smell the water of the lake and the smoke from a fire, off to his right. He leaves the trail that fades into beach and ducks into the trees, and soon spots the glow of the fire between the trunks. As he approaches he catches soft voices, growing louder as he nears but still subdued. Now he can see them clearly, Jason and Tim in front of an impressive campfire on the shore of the lake. They’re sitting with their legs crossed, facing each other and their knees are touching. The fire light behind them illuminates their profiles and casts strange shadows, and Bruce is about to step out from the tree line when he looks closer, and pauses, because what he thought at first was a weird play of the light is actually tears. Jason is crying.

Bruce stops, quietly observing.

Tim is cradling Jason’s hands in his own, and they’re bent over, resting their foreheads against each other.

“I don’t want to go home,” Jason whispers, so softly Bruce nearly misses it.

“I know.” Tim rubs the back of Jason’s hand with his thumb. “You can sneak out again, right?”

“Probably. Mom won’t notice, not if she’s…” Jason sniffles and Tim reaches up to wipe away some of the wetness from his cheek. “And Dad won’t be out for another two weeks, with good behavior.”

“Okay, so you’ll stay with me. It’ll be nice, having someone around.”

Jason nods shakily. Then he dives forward, throwing his arms around Tim and knocking him over. Tim laughs as they land on the ground, and wraps his arms around Jason’s waist. They stay there, Jason crushing Tim into the sand, and Tim not seeming to mind. Their legs tangle and there are whispers and giggles that Bruce can’t make out fully. He turns away.

Bruce finds a log to sit on. He needs to rest for a while before the march back to camp. Pulling out his water and something to snack on, he rethinks his earlier assessment.

He spends the next few minutes planning out the lecture he’ll give the boys on the way back, scrambling to come up with something that might possibly stop them from doing this again, next time.


End file.
